


It depends...

by ChocoNut



Series: Many ways to say I love you [87]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Jealous Jaime Lannister, Missing scene 8x4, Season 8, What It SHOULD Have Been
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27603656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: He stops, turns to her, and she takes a couple of steps backwards, only to be met by the wall behind and a pair of piercing green eyes barely more than a couple of feet from her face. “Would you kiss a man if he wanted you, wench?”“It depends,” she answers, treading cautiously, not wanting to give too much of her heart away in case this is just a drunken rambling he’s engaging her with.ORThe drinking game never happened. Instead, it’s just a simple fluffy conversation when Jaime escorts his wench to her chambers after the feast.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Many ways to say I love you [87]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1234904
Comments: 35
Kudos: 137





	It depends...

“Tell me, Brienne,” he begins, as soon as they’ve made it to the solitude and silence of the semi-lit passages and out of the earshot of the reveling crowd, but stops at that.

And her breath trapped in her chest, she waits.

Jaime squints, a frown taking form on his forehead, as if he’s trying to summon to his lips what’s in his mind. He’s drunk, but not that much. He was quite in his senses to take offense when Tormund came forth to steal her from her friends, conscious enough to ward off his advances and steal her back from him, to escort her back to her chambers, far away from what he perceived as a threat.

That Tormund is a threat in his eyes is a ray of encouragement, not so much to leave her in raptures, but enough to get her hopeful, her heart soaring, wishing for this long walk to end in more than just a friendly good night at her doorstep.

“I’m listening,” she urges him to go on when the pause extends to much more than she can withstand.

He stops, turns to her, and she takes a couple of steps backwards, only to be met by the wall behind and a pair of piercing green eyes barely more than a couple of feet from her face. “Would you kiss a man if he wanted you, wench?”

It’s Brienne’s turn to mull his question over. While she hasn’t been wooed before, this is quite an odd way for a man to express his desire to a woman. “It depends,” she answers, nevertheless, treading cautiously, not wanting to give too much of her heart away in case this is just a drunken rambling he’s engaging her with.

He advances, now towers over her despite being shorter than her. “Depends on what?”

She deems it wise to keep it vague again. “A lot of things.” 

“What if Renly were alive and wanted to kiss you?” She can feel the sliver of envy in his words, taste it in the way he demands an answer. “Would you indulge in it then?”

_Yes,_ would’ve been a spontaneous answer several years back, but now—now, even if the man she’d once adored and still respected and admired was to come back to life, to court her like she’d dreamed of countless nights in her youth—now, she feels nothing more than deep regard for him.

“What do I make of your silence, my lady?” The frown gets deeper. Another step towards her, now, he’s within a foot of her. “And what about Tormund Giantsbane? He seemed quite eager to kiss you, to do more than that—”

“Why do you ask about other men?” she gives him back, holding her head high and battling his intense gaze. She’s irked by his hesitation to speak plainly, tired of playing this game anymore. “Are you jealous—”

“Maybe I am. Maybe I—” He tilts his face to hers, his body hovering over hers, his lips close—so close that she can almost taste the wine he’s consumed. “Would you kiss _me_ , my lady?” 

“It depends—” she replies, carefully again. Despite her loudly hammering heart she wants to express herself, wants to blurt out all that she’s held to herself, but the heat from his body engulfs her, wraps her in an embrace she can’t break away from, and she cannot go on, can barely keep up with her breathing. 

“Depends on what?” Even in this darkness, she can see it in his eyes—a spark and something more, something she dares not put to words, something, his eyes tell her, he has for her. _Only_ her. “Would you have me compose verses proclaiming my love for you?” he goes on, his lips thinning in what can be construed as a smile, or perhaps, a sign of nervousness. “Or would you have me challenge your wildling admirer to a duel?” 

Half-amused, half-impressed, and mostly her heart dancing away in joy, she allows herself a smile, tries to maintain her composure. “I demand none of that. Instead, why don’t you just—”

And he does.

He swoops in to invade her private space, stops her with a kiss, and unprepared, though she is, she draws him in, melts away with the flow. With him. Should her life end this very moment, she’d die a contented woman—in his arms, on his lips. Should the gods offer her just one wish, it would be a life with him, a day, or a year or tens of years, it doesn’t matter.

“Better than verses of love,” she proclaims with all the fondness she can gather, draping her arms loosely around his neck when they gently break away. “And as far as your duel with Tormund goes—”

“I’d win,” he boasts, before she can finish, possessive, still a bit jealous.

She reassures him with a smile. “You have already won.”

His breathing steadies, the envy clouding his features melts away. “Not yet,” he whispers. “Not until—’ He lets his fingers caress her arm. “Will you—”

“Yes,” she breathlessly replies, before he can finish, for there’s no place else she’d want to spend this night, nowhere but in his arms.

A smile to answer hers, that’s all there is, and as he leads her by the hand, his unspoken words, she can hear all around, echoed by the walls, filling the emptiness along their path. 

“Where are we going?” she asks in puzzlement, when instead of taking the stairs to her chambers, he chooses the trail leading outdoors. 

“To the Godswood, obviously.”

She tugs him to a halt. “The Godswood?” 

“Of course, but I doubt if we can manage a ceremony at this hour,” he explains, speaking very fast, “but we could still—” When he takes in her confusion, he holds back. “You—” insecurity, something akin to alarm creeps into his handsome face “—you just said yes, didn’t you?”

“I did—but—I… The Godswood—” is all she can stutter with, thoughts knotting into a tangle in her mind as she thinks back at his question, regards it again. 

He lets go of her hand, lets his fingers comb through his hair in apprehension. “I thought you knew what I meant before you—” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows, looks down at her feet. “I didn’t mean to—” 

“I thought you asked if we can—if I want to—” A wave of heat rushes up her neck and she stops. “If I—” She can’t proceed any further, she’s nearly sure she’s blushing. 

“I was going to ask you if you’d marry me, my lady,” he softly reveals, eyes rising to meet hers. “If you’d consider spending the rest of your life with—”

“Yes,” she accepts, grasping his hand and bringing it to her heart, and for a magical moment, they let it sink in, let their eyes do the conversing.

Then he knocks down whatever is left of her composure with a look that’s good enough to make any woman go weak in the knees. “When you first said yes—” Brows knit together, he leans in, studies her eyes for an answer to something he hasn’t asked her, yet. “What did you think I was proposing, wench?”

“Nothing—” She looks away, as if staring pointlessly at the torch flickering away by their side will stop her from turning crimson all over. “I just—”

“Perhaps you can tell me when it’s just you and me and no one to disturb us,” he whispers, turning up his charm on her to an extent that another woman in her place would’ve swooned right into his arms. “Maybe we could stop over at your chambers tonight before we walk down to the Godswood at dawn?” 

“It depends,” she playfully dodges him.

“On what?” Jaime gets closer, touches her lips with his. “Do you want me to woo you with verses proclaiming my love—”

“Oh shut up,” she scolds him in jest, pushes him away and takes off in the direction of their destination. 

As he follows her, as they make their way to her door, anxious, yet, excited, Brienne feels like the world belongs to her.

And when they seal themselves away from the outside world, when her husband-to-be draws her into an intimate embrace, captures her lips in a passionate kiss, she knows the gods have granted it to her.

**Author's Note:**

> A little fluffy, a little flirty - tell me how it was!
> 
> P.S : Yet another one shot from me. I know I keep saying I'll slow down, but I'm quite impatient. Maybe I will, once I get out whatever's on my plate for now, wrap things up :)


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